


Freudian Slip

by froglesstoad



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Basement Gerard Way, COVID-19, Community College, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Online Dating, Online Relationship, Online School, Pandemics, Slow Burn, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, Underage Drinking, Zoom calls, cartoon network gerard, college students, danger days is a video game, gap year, rutgers frank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froglesstoad/pseuds/froglesstoad
Summary: In which Frank is on a pre-college gap year and Gerard is taking a night course during COVID-19 and both take a free online psychology class at Belleville community college.Frank is also addicted to the Danger Days video game franchise. Does the new member who joins his rebel team have any connection to the pretty stranger in his zoom classes?
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 74
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

This year really hasn’t gone as Frank expected it to, or (as he supposes) anyone else had either for that matter. Deferring his academic scholarship to Rutgers was actually a stroke of luck and perhaps a product of pained labour, involving many phone calls, grimacing, and an exceptionally persistent doctor who argued that Frank’s immune system would endanger him in a college setting around “all those people” in “these times” and did they “want a damn lawsuit on their hands when Frank caught the virus and risked -”. 

That last part he resented a bit. First, it was _absolutely_ a bluff. His family was ill equipped to file any kind of legal action, especially in “these times” - Frank Sr. was a manager of a small independent record and music store in the non gentrifying area of Belleville. It seemed hopeful, near the beginning of the pandemic, that people might develop a sudden interest in picking up a guitar or taking their pent up frustration out on a drum kit, and indeed, profits hit a small spike early May. But as people gave up on social distancing and their ukuleles collected dust above their wardrobes, Frank Sr. faced the uncomfortable truth that when in a recession, people don’t buy pianos. 

Frank’s mum Linda, who helped out with the shop part-time and worked at the dusty antique store otherwise, took up some extra shifts, and with a stimulus check here and a stimulus check there, they were doing okay. Frank, for his part, applied at every opportunity to try and make up for the guilt he felt about taking up the upstairs bedroom for a year longer than expected. His parents never made him feel bad about it, and made it even worse when they’d eat dinner together on weekends.

“Oh, Frankie,” Linda would say, meeting his eye sympathetically across the Domino’s takeout box on the flat table.

“It’s fine, I’m _fine_!” He’d respond quickly, which made it sound not fine, even though it absolutely was. 

Frank landed a job online tutoring some old money kids from his old Catholic prep school. He was surprised at first that he’d made it -- the combination of a mohawk, untucked shirt, and a bad smoking habit made him stand out in an unfortunate way amongst his peers. This involved tensions escalating to a fight here or there, but nothing too bad. Regardless, Frank wasn’t an insider. But Mr. Weisel had thought Frank’s punk inspired essay had a “unique and nuanced take” on _Dante’s Inferno_ , and when his new students struggled with Dante’s concept of hell and view on punishment, Fritz Weisel sent them Frank’s way. 

It was a good gig, all things considered. For one thing, it paid exceptionally well. The struggling kid’s parent, a Princeton alumnus who wanted his child to share the same fate, had set the starting rate at twenty five dollars an hour, well beyond his expectations. With this as his base, Frank sent out a couple of emails to some teachers who he’d done alright with, and expanded his clientele to about three bored high school students with desperate parents. Not all paid as well as the Dante kid, but Frank was not complaining at all.

But beyond the financial hassle of a lawsuit, Frank’s family was staunchly Italian and the prospect of his family hiring a lawyer and filling out paperwork while he was on his deathbed instead of erupting into home cooked paccheri or a heavily parmesaned pasta dish was laughable. 

The bluff worked, though. Here Frank was, two weeks into August of his unexpected gap year, in a quiet house, with a blunt between his teeth on a Tuesday afternoon, mindlessly strumming the chorus to Black Flag’s “American Waste” on Pansy, his guitar. He’d opened the window, as a lazy attempt to ward Linda off the smell, but he doubted she’d be home for a while. Her shift ended at five today, plenty enough time for his eye redness to subside and to come up with excuses for another day spent out of his mind. 

The truth was, he was bored. Studying hard in high school to land his scholarship hadn’t made Frank a swat. Sure, he liked Catcher in the Rye alright and could understand basic chemistry, but the best part of the week was the end of it, where he’d head to Ray Toro’s basement with a few other friends from his old school, Belleville High, and kick ass in the Danger Days video game, trade old editions of Watchmen comics, marathon D&D games, and trash around with the rest of them at varying levels of sobriety shredding Pansy while Bob attacked the drums. 

But now his friends had headed off to various versions of their post-high school lives - Ray was at William Paterson University from home, Bob at UFlorida, and Brian working full time at his uncle’s radio station. Jamia, like Bob, was also going out of state, but not far, and anyway, they were all more or less trapped at home in COVID. He didn’t quite envy them with their mind-numbing zoom classes, camera-shy peers, and piles of readings, but he kind of wished he were part of the common experience.

As if on cue, his phone pinged, and he batted around his neatly made bed (“Hospital corners, Frankie, God it’s not that hard!” Linda chastised, rumpling the covers around him as if to demonstrate how loose they were). 

**ToroToro:** Im lossing my fkn mind  
**ToroToro:** [Attachment: 1 Image]  
**ToroToro:** R u seeing this shit????

The typos were iconic of Ray, who always multitasked while texting and whose messages sometimes required interpretive witchcraft. Frank opened the file. It was a screenshot of a Zoom class. Frank could make out Ray’s pixelated face, curly hair unrulier than ever, in the top right. 

In the sea of poorly lit faces, Ray had scribbled a thick red circle around one guy who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that his webcam was on. He was leaning forward toward where he had perched his phone in selfie mode on his shelf and, armed with a toothpick, was posing in a way Frank assumed gave him visual access to the back of his mouth. It looked like something out of a bootleg dentist catalogue only more painful. Frank winced.

 **BriSchech:** lmao but can u get the girl above him’s number… ;)

Frank giggled. The girl above Dentist Boy had an angular face, high, regal cheekbones, and was utterly out of Brian’s league.

 **frankstn:** idk bri, didn’t you get high and tell your last date she wasn’t as hot as your mom’s colleague or something,,,

 **LochNestorJ:** LOL

 **BriSchech:** fuck u iero my moms friend was a milf n u kno it

Maybe Frank wasn’t missing out on the college experience after all, he thought, as the chat devolved into Zoom horror stories. All the same, he probably could be doing something better with his time than waiting for the year to end. Not curing cancer or anything, he wasn’t deluded, but he couldn’t afford the amount of cigarettes he was getting through per day. 

He missed just being around people, even school people who, on the whole, he didn’t particularly like (apart from Max and Leo, and maybe Mags from theology). It was the prospect of a conversation, hearing snippets of gossip, and even the occasional human touch, that Frank was starved for. And that’s really what was on his mind when his phone buzzed and a new notification from noreply@bellevillecc.org appeared in his inbox.

“DON’T MISS OUT. 5 DAYS TILL DEADLINE FOR FREE C…” 

Read the subject line. Frank tapped the notification half-heartedly, the word “free” seeming appealing, his right hand still around the body of his guitar. 

“Dear Mr. Iero,” the email read, “We hope we’re finding you well in these unprecedented times”. There was that damn phrase again. “These times”. Frank almost rolled his eyes.

“Although we are sad to hear you won’t be joining us for this academic year as an enrolled student at Belleville Community College, we wanted to let you know of some opportunities you have earned. As a student of high academic standing taking a gap year, we are offering you a semester of a course at no charge.” Frank twitched in surprise.

“This is a fantastic opportunity, and would let you expand your academic horizons and build a solid foundation for wherever you choose to pursue your education. Courses may be applicable for credit at other universities. If you are so persuaded, you would have priority registration for our paid courses in the following semester as well.

Click HERE for the list of free courses you’re eligible for. Hurry! They’re filling up fast!”

Frank put Pansy down on his bed carefully and hit the hyperlink. The web page was slow to load, a garish red and white, and had a rather oblong lion head on the top left hand corner. “ _Belleville Lions, Roaring Loud_ ”, read the italicised text along the top. Frank hit the “Categories” button to filter the courses.

“Math, Sciences, Social Sciences, Humanities and Arts” read the options.

Frank skipped math without any question. He was alright at it, but he wasn’t bored enough to spend a whole semester on it without reason. 

Wait, he thought, what works for my major?

Frank had applied as a psych major at Rutgers. He scanned their required first year courses.

Introduction to Psychology seemed like a decent place to start. He scrolled down the list of available courses on the community college’s website. The courses matched! Now, would it work as a credit? He scanned Rutgers’s site. 

“Community college credits accepted” the website informed him. Frank grinned. 

This will kill some time, he thought, hitting the "Enrol Now" button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, quarantine has resurfaced a) my emo phase and b) my fanfic addiction. I wrote this to compensate. Go big or go home innit.
> 
> Chap 2 will be up in a week
> 
> follow along my tumblr @ https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/ for updates, questions, or just to say hi!


	2. Chapter 2

Out of both time slot options, Frank didn’t think he was doing badly. Neither was especially convenient but fuck it, he thought, he wasn’t paying for it, and it’s not like he was particularly busy. The morning slot began at 6am, presumably for people who worked a 9 to 5. Obviously that wasn’t an option. Frank barely emerged from his room until 11 at the earliest. 

The night slot was fine in theory - 8 until 10. Two hours of the day you’re not usually particularly busy at. Not too late the night is gone, not too early you’re waiting to fall asleep. All fine, in theory, but as 7:30 rolled round on Tuesday, the first day of class, Frank’s phone chimed with a half-hour warning.

Shit. Class in half an hour and he had forgotten to do the reading. 

Frank slumped at his desktop and logged into the laggy website. Bela nuzzled into the room, tail wagging lethargically. She settled under his desk and Frank automatically stuck a hand under the table to scratch her ears. 

When the document finally loaded, Frank skimmed the lecture. He never really took notes on reading in school. His teachers covered most of it in class and he’d just write everything there. This stuff didn’t look too hard either. It was a standard textbook with blue headings and little magnifying glass emoticons with the important stuff in bold. Frank’s eyes zoomed to those instead of the block of text. He was halfway through it all when he realised a zoom class might also involve people seeing him and his room.

Frank wasn’t vain, but he also wasn’t going to put himself in a deliberately humiliating scenario. He abandoned the reading and turned on his webcam so he could get an idea of what first impression people would have of him. 

There it was, Frank’s room. Mirrored, but otherwise normal. Hospital corners on the bed, posters peeling off the wall. Frank slapped the corner of Morrisey’s face half-heartedly but gave up as the man slowly curled down again. 

“Gonna have to buy some more blue tack,” he muttered to himself, shoving a stack of folded laundry into a random drawer in his wardrobe. Bela opened an eye to the frantic cleaning and took up residence on his pillow.

It looked presentable enough, he thought. All the essentials of a normal room. A bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and a bookcase. And, all the Frank-things that made it his room - posters from Jawbreaker to the Smashing Pumpkins to Radiohead, a shelf crammed with comics, and a little pot of cress he was attempting to culture by the window (a failed endeavor). He didn’t notice the cigarettes on the nightstand that Bela was sniffing suspiciously or the crumpled up shirt peeking out from under his pillow. 

He glanced at himself. He looked pretty normal, although the sides of his hair were really growing out of his mohawk cut. He tried to fix it with no real luck. He sighed, closed the webcam, and clicked the Zoom link from his email, joining the class with his camera off. 

There were about 13 of them in the room and only the professor had her camera on. She was an older woman, in her late fifties, but she had aged well. Her dark skin was smooth, with only hints of forehead wrinkles, her hair wasn’t dyed, but it was fashionably silver, and she wore an olive green blouse that complimented her sea glass ring. She frowned, slightly perplexed into the camera, face much closer to the monitor than it should have been, mouth ajar. She wasn’t muted and Frank could hear her taking attendance under her breath. 

“Just another one, one more person I think?” she half whispered to herself, as if it were something that required lots of thought. Frank decided he rather liked her. 

She launched into the class exactly on time, and Frank was glad he hadn’t waited to log in. 

“I’m Mrs. Tracey and I’ve been working here at Belleville for the last fifteen years. I love this college. It does great things, like take a chance on me. My ma pushed me hard to go to college but majoring in business was boring and SO damn white. I came here as a student instead because I could do it myself and I could choose what I wanted. They offered me a spot for free as a student and it was the best risk I ever took” she paused, looking into the camera. 

“Fast forward thirty eight years and here I am,” Mrs. Tracey spoke calmly and slowly, “and I’m gonna give you all what you came here for - an intro to psychology course.

“Now since it’s the first day, I’m not gonna bother enforcing any kinda webcam situation,” she continued, “but by the next session, I’d appreciate it if you could join me in this classroom with your face. Of course,” here, her tone sharpened a little, “That is not an invitation for _anyone_ to pass judgement on what is going on in the background of anyone’s room or the appearance of anyone. People are going through their own shit and we are here to learn about how thought works, not direct that as a weapon at anyone else”

And with that, she launched into the class. 

Getting into the rhythm of it, Frank idly scrolled through the participants list. 16 of them including the professor. The names were abbreviated as they came in as the first letter of first name and then the last name. 

Frank hunted for the unfortunate ones.

There was B.Icher which made him giggle and poor G.Way probably got bullied in school for homophobic reasons, but the rest were pretty normal. There was the obligatory J.Smith and an A.Smith who Frank bet were not related (imagine taking an online class with a sibling -- the only child in Frank shuddered). No one trolled the class either (at least so far) which surprised Frank. With someone in Brian’s Intro to Calc class hiring a llama to pop in or even Ray’s unfortunate dentist-in-training peer, Frank had half expected zoom class to be chaos. Really, it was quite boring. 

Frank didn’t really attend the classes toward the end of his senior year. As a second semester senior, he didn’t care about APs or anything else and he’d spent most of his time playing Danger Days with Ray and Brian during school hours. 

Frank and co. had too many hours logged on Danger Days but the game was addictive. There were three modes- the Helium Wars, Battery City, and Traffic Report. Frank liked Traffic Report best, but chose the other two more when Ray and Brian were offline. 

In Helium Wars, you enter the early stage of Better Living Industry’s autocratic rise. As BLI starts to take control of all sectors of life (starting natural disasters, controlling industry, and pushing out products that mind wash a lot of the population) you join a group of rebel players who decide to act now before BLI grows too strong. 

At this point, the rebel network is substantial, and your main challenge is coordination and teamwork to harness this loose mob of support against a decentralised threat. Through many rounds, Frank has figured out that the game tricks you into targeting one sector under BLI’s control, like protecting small business, and all the while BLI takes over natural disasters instead and unleashes it on whatever you’ve worked to build up. 

The Helium Wars is kind of a clue itself - BLI is taking over helium supplies, undermining rebel manpower by ruining their clandestine healthcare and DIY technology. When Frank plays Helium, he gets the others to target BLI’s grip there before everything else. Even though he’s figured out the secret to it, BLI has a nastily sneaky way of changing up their strategy. Frank hasn’t figured out how they do it, but he suspects they have ways of predicting rebel strategy based on chat monitoring and maybe even by listening in on the voice chat feature. 

Even the word “helium” triggered a more aggressive response from the enemy soldiers, or Dracs. He tried chat variations like h3lium or h*lium and such, but as soon as he hits Enter the Dracs do a 180 and head toward him. He’s tried using coded language with marginal success, but often accidentally slips back into the game’s terminology (“Shit but it’s so catchy!” Ray had complained after screaming “Schechter, grab the the fucking helium!” into their call). Anyway, he’s won a few times and the graphic design and mode concept is enough to keep him busy when he’s bored.

Battery City’s concept takes place chronologically later. It feels like Helium Wars was a beta for it and the game makers perhaps lazily overlapped concepts to make Battery City a higher level version. Frank doesn’t mind much, though. He’s argued with Bob about this for hours -- 

“They’re _conceptually_ different, Bryar”

“‘The fuck you mean ‘ _conceptually_ ’? Saying big words doesn’t make you write outside Catholic school” Bob would respond, shooting his last few bullets at the swarm of Dracs on their left.

Frank would respond, frustrated, with something like, “Motherfucker, it shows evolution! Look at how revolutions vary based on state control-” and Ray would interrupt before he could finish with something like “Game theory won’t matter in a sec! Help me out Ghoul we’re getting blasted!!”

To his credit, he had a point. The nuances of the Danger Days franchise hardly made a difference on your survival when a group of Dracs had cornered you and were descending, pistols raised. Frank launched his final grenade which misfired and hit Bob. 

“Fuck, Frank!” Bob shouted into his mic as Ray cackled and they respawned back into the dusty desert.

But all in all, Frank stood by it. Battery City, while also canonically chronologically later, involved a tighter knit group of rebels, the masses having been indoctrinated. You could also choose to play as a defender of the state, a Draculoid, and hunt the rebels in the desert. At this point in the game, the goal wasn’t petty like disrupting helium control. It was a full out coup, a mass revolution. And this combination - a close knit group of friends and a huge goal - made the mission a lot harder. 

Frank liked it, though, especially the way it tied into the Radio Traffic mode. Radio (as they called it) was sort of a freeplay version. No real rules or objectives. You just wandered the desert, fighting Dracs, setting up camps, collecting and trading resources. Those resources could be used in Battery City mode, too. The most legendary were teams of people, not usually individuals. People referred to each other by their group’s names, like RatRoast or ValVelocity. Frank’s group wasn’t especially notable -- him, Bob, Brian, Ray, and Jamia when she could be persuaded, all played as LEATHERMOUTH which was an inside joke Frank’s honestly forgotten the origin of. 

Frank idly wondered if any of the people in his class played Danger Days then dismissed the thought. DD was a little niche and, besides, most of these people were probably older and not into gaming. It’s not that he’d ask or anything. It was kind of embarrassing really.

Class ended promptly, with Mrs. Tracey reminding them they had reading due in a couple of days and that “There aren’t quizzes in this class but why are you here if you’re not using the resources we’re giving you?”. 

Frank logged out of the zoom and booted up Danger Days. Ray had been spamming his messages for him to join their group. 

“fraaaaaank,” one of them read, “we fiund another membr 4 leathrmth !!!!! hes dope” 

“college is optional u fkn nerd join dd” a text from Bob read. 

Frank watched the loading screen graphics cycle as the desert built itself and he connected to the audio call to meet the new addition to the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry if this description is inaccurate to actual video games, I haven't played a game in my life. The Danger Days video game concept is loosely inspired by jedusaur’s [sing it for the n00bs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/363120) which is very good and you should read it if you haven’t already. Thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus content, questions or requests or just to say hi! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Having KobraKid, or Mikey, in LEATHERMOUTH actually made perfect sense. Kobra’s avatar looked kind of cobra-like, Frank thought. He was tall, thin, and had a dope jacket he picked up out in the zones. Mikey also had a ray gun, which were particularly rare in the game. When Bob asked where he got it Mikey made a small noise, kind of like “meh” which came across as a shrug. Frank would have thought it was sketchy, but he noticed Mikey was unusually low on coins. Maybe he was embarrassed at having spent them all on a weapon he was a little shit with. And Kobra sucked at shooting. Like, he was laughably bad, hitting the sky more than the Dracs. 

“How long have you been playing, Kobra?” Frank asked after Mikey fires at a Drac and hits a gas station behind him instead, inadvertently blowing it up and sending the rest of the Dracs scattering. 

“Uhh, a coupla months?” Kobra responded, muffled, loudly crunching down on something, probably chips, into the mic and making everyone wince.

“Muuuuuute!” complained Ray, “I thought that was an attack”

“This motherfucker is always hungry, get used to it,” said Bob, who had actually met Kobra before on a different game and knew his eating habits.

A few months wasn’t that long, Frank and Bob had been playing for almost a year now and Ray had joined them a few months in. Brian was actually fairly new to the game too, being about 4 months in. He was getting better, but the controls on the game were a bit fiddly and there was a pretty steep learning curve for actions like driving or shooting. Brian and Mikey would get better, he figured. 

It wasn’t just the ray gun and the jacket or even the martial arts moves that made Kobra a good part of the team (“What the fuck I didn’t know you could do that” Frank had said after Mikey gave up on weapon, threw it to the ground and hit the Drac with a swift uppercut to the jaw which sent him flying almost comically). 

Kobra was also subtly funny, with his monotone deadpan style. He was quiet, but when he’d comment on Drac movement or poke fun at Ray’s fashion sense (“That’s gotta be problematic, dude, eye patches aren’t fashion” he’d jokingly point out when Ray appeared back from a market stand sporting a pirate-like cover instead of his usual glasses), there was a quiet sense of humour not to be mistaken for shyness. He fit in pretty comfortably with the overall louder group - Frank’s enthusiasm with explosives and Brian’s flirting with every market seller he’d come across balanced out Kobra’s subtlety.

But when Toro and Briar logged off that Friday evening and it was just him and Mikey left on the call he wasn’t too uncomfortable. Frank did hate an awkward silence, though.

“So, Kobra where ‘you from?” Frank asked to break the silence, bouncing his leg under the table.

“Jersey” was Mikey’s short reply, but not unkindly.

“No way, me too! Where?”

“Belleville”

“You’re fucking with me!”

“Nah, born and bred”

“No fucking way - Belleville high?”

“Nah, I went to North”

And so suddenly they had a lot to talk about - what record shops they liked (“Jimmy’s is the best”, Mikey declared adamantly, “They do a 50% off on Fridays”

“Nah I have Iero brand loyalty, my dad’s got him beat any day. Is that deal still on today, though? Kind of wanna new Pumpkins CD since Bela chewed up my old one” 

“Dude, you can have mine, my brother’s obsessed with the Pumpkins, he’s got doubles of every one of their albums”) 

Here Mikey perked up and earnestly talked about what a dork his brother was. Frank thought it was kind of sweet. Mikey’s brother sounded cool and it was unusual that brothers were also friends (in his view as an only child). And he was not going to pass up a free CD, but there was kind of a pandemic and he didn’t want to give randos (sorry, Mikey) his home address. “Yeah we could maybe meet up sometime socially distant and all that?” Mikey seemed to like that idea.

They were down the rabbit hole of music taste, Mikey declaring Black Flag wasn’t as good as the Smiths (“It’s _Morrissey_ dude” He said, as if that’s all that needed explaining) Frank got a notification that his Friday psych class started in 5 minutes. 

“Shit dude gotta go, I have class -- and Morrissey’s good but Black Flag was revolutionary - transformed the punk scene” Frank explained as he logged off.

“Bye,” came the reply. Frank could tell Mikey was smiling even though his monotone.

This time Frank had not checked up on his background and hitting the video button on the meeting made him cringe. It wasn’t representative of him, he thought defensively, he was pretty neat and quite religious about hygiene, debunking the stereotype of most teenage boys. He tried to kick a pile of folded laundry out of view before everyone joined. It was just him, Mrs. Tracey, and this other guy in the zoom. Frank hovered over his image to check out his familiar name “G.Way”. 

He didn’t look like a “G.” Frank couldn’t think of any cool names that started with G… Garry, Gerald, Gabe? Not that the guy looked like he was cool or anything. He had black longish hair which could be greasy or maybe just shiny, a cute nose, and pixie like lips, thin but bright. His face was angular and pretty. He wore a dark grey shirt with something written on it that Frank couldn’t read. There was a light stain on his left sleeve too that might have been bleach. Gross, but the guy was still pretty cute, blinking away into the camera with long, girlish eyelashes, as if he’d just woken up. Frank decided to check out G’s background instead. Developing a crush on Zoom Guy was probably a bad idea. 

G’s setting was strange too. It was dark in the room, being night, but it seemed like beside the dim lamp in the far corner of the room, the only other light source was G’s screen. The brightness was obviously all the way up and it lit up his face with a bluish tinge. G was definitely in some sort of basement and it was a little creepy. There was a small window with yellowed curtains, the walls were wooden, like actually paneled wooden floorboards (What the fuck, thought Frank), and there were crowds of ornaments lining the shelves. At least, he assumed they were ornaments. He could spot a skeleton hand, pointing at the sky, a resin encased fish which looked rotten, a stack of what could be comics (Frank was optimistic) and crumpled papers in huge stacks mounting from the floor to waist height. Frank felt a little better about his room’s state. 

People were joining the zoom rapidly now, Frank scanned their faces. A girl who looked like she could still be in high school, an older man with glasses perched at the end of his nose, a man who sat at a desk and whose younger sibling was trying to listen in without being noticed in the background, equipped with a notebook. It was kind of comforting to see these other faces, many of them his age. Frank had worried with the nighttime slot he’d be lumped in with a bunch of old people who didn’t wake up early enough for the morning class or middle aged parents. A few people kept their cameras off and Mrs. Tracey didn’t say anything about it. 

The class started promptly and Mrs. Tracey began in her slow and steady manner of diving into the reading -- a discussion of accuracy in psychological experiments. Frank thought the way psychology was labeled not a science when it came to appropriating government funds was unfair. For one thing, fuck them, why did a bunch of stuffy Harvard white men get to decide where money went when psych research shaped government policy and was independently important. Besides, assigning pay or hierarchy based on “productivity” or “use to the state” was icky and discriminatory and yeah Frank wasn’t buying into it. And that’s not even the worst of it, fumed Frank internally. Why are professions in the arts any lesser? He could write a good essay and crunch numbers, but the second one felt infinitely more valuable in a career. Putting psych as a major had felt like a minor fuck you to his guidance counselor who, with a raised eyebrow, remarked pointedly that banking might make him more money. 

The truth was, Frank had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. School was okay but more of a necessary evil for time spent better leaping on Bob’s back in a surprise piggyback, nudging Ray’s hand when they gamed together to throw him off kilter, or -- when the house was empty -- smoking with Pansy on his lap until time blurred into angry fast punk like the notes of the guitar.

Mrs. Tracey took a break, midway. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” she explained. 

Everyone looked uncomfortably into the camera. Ten minutes felt too short to run down and make himself a grilled cheese, but Frank wasn’t going to sit there and watch a bunch of silent strangers. Just as he was about to switch off his webcam, and leave the room - going anywhere else felt better than sitting there - a voice piped up.

“Uh- hey?” It was R.Ahuja. She had curly dark hair, dramatically winged eyeliner, and a silver lip ring like Frank’s. If he was interested in girls, he might have thought she was kind of hot, he thought idly. 

A couple of people nodded to acknowledge they’d heard her.

“I’m Riya,” she continued. She didn’t sound nervous. “Are any of you interested in compiling research for the September paper?”

“Yeah, we could make a group chat if that’s easy and just drop links there”, said J.Stone.

“Ok, PM me your numbers if you want in,” Riya agreed. 

This was all moving so fast. Frank watched the rest of the class’s reactions. G.Way was chewing on the corner of his pretty lips. He looked somewhat nervous, but Frank could see him typing something carefully. 

Fuck it, Frank thought, definitely not sending his number to Riya because pretty zoom boy did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna post this tomorrow but i got excited and i have poor impulse control. also i can't write anything without ranting about capitalism, i had to cut our a whole other paragraph about it 'cuz it was just too much. 
> 
> fic rec for this week is [i’ll be running home to you by bringmoreknivez](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416861/chapters/64356001). it’s based on _the flatshare_ which i haven’t actually read, but the concept of sharing a flat with a stranger& ensuing romance and the writing are both excellent i highly recommend:)
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this chapter contains descriptions of coming to grips with sexuality, homophobic slurs and violence, and a difficult relationship with Catholicism. if these subject matters are difficult and not for you that is completely okay, send me a message and i can write another version of this chapter as well for you or if you’d rather just skip it, that’s okay too! <3

Frank had quite forgotten about the group chat when, a few days later, he got a message saying “Hi.” from an unfamiliar number in a chat sent to about nine others. Just as he was about to swipe left and delete the message, another came in, saying “It’s Riya.” 

Everyone texted their name, and Frank painstakingly plugged them into his phone, keeping his eyes peeled for any starting with a G. There was only one so far. Grant. Hm, I guess that could fit, thought Frank. 

He puts his phone away into his back pocket. He’s out with Bela anyway, no time for cute zoom boy. It’s an uncharacteristically gorgeous day, with a light breeze so it’s not too hot, so Frank doesn’t feel suffocated wearing his mask (plain and black to match his jeans). Bela’s trotting beside him. He doesn’t need to keep her on the lead, really, but he gets dirty looks from his neighbours otherwise and really he can’t be bothered. You can still tell if someone’s giving you a look, even if they’re wearing a mask. Not that all Frank’s neighbours wore masks. Frank glared as a man in a wifebeater walked past, maskless explaining, “I’ll be there in a sec” into his phone. Frank had to swerve into the road to keep his distance. Bela tugged reproachfully back toward the pavement. She hated the dust and the loud cars.

It’s so fucking selfish, thought Frank, knowing he was being immature, but not really caring. He knows he probably thinks about the risks of Covid more because his immune system is shit but really he can’t imagine not worrying about passing on a deadly virus to someone else. 

Maybe it’d be different if it was an explicit choice, Frank thought. If there were two buttons and one said “chance of killing people around me but on the plus side people can see the lower half of my face” and the other button read “they won’t see my mouth and nose but I probably won’t murder anyone”, maybe people would choose otherwise. Everyone feels exempt from the rules, like maybe there was a benevolent ghost looking out for them -- or God, kicked in his Catholic upbringing. _Fucking hell_ , he thought, _not this rabbit hole again._

After graduating from his Catholic prep school, Frank secretly vowed to himself that he would never touch a Bible again until he decided to of his own volition. It’s not that he hated God or anything. His own experience with the church felt tainted, though. He had grown up in a culture steeped in shame and sin -- that was fertile ground for a punk influence (something Frank found ironic). Although it was easy to connect the darker side of his religion, he had also spent countless nights as a younger kid wrought with the knowledge that there was something so wrong with him, something wicked. That if he revealed the part of himself that didn’t want to kiss girls and felt a wrenching exciting shock deep in his gut when Jason accidentally brushed his knuckles against his arm while passing him in the hallway, he would be worse than completely alone. He would be hated. 

And so it took a long time for Frank to accept that part of himself ( _and really, did anyone ever fully come to terms with their sexuality?_ Frank wondered, unclipping Bela’s lead as they made it through the gate to the dusty park). He’d swallowed everything he’d felt, channeling it into his schoolwork he didn’t really give a shit about and being an obnoxious punk kid, growing out his hair past school regulations, smoking in the bathroom through a crack in the window as he stood on the toilet, and starting fights with Jason to feel something when his knuckles connected with his nose in a crunch and he spat the word he dreaded the most: “faggot”. 

Spitting blood, he’d felt like it had been worth it, like the fucking fire in his stomach and the awareness of blood coursing through every vein in his entire body had never been so intense. It’s not like everything clicked and suddenly BAM he was Mr. Gay of Belleville Catholic School, defending his right to exist at every opportunity and picking up pretty boys right and left. The punch was invigorating, though. Frank felt so alive and beautiful and free in that moment when Jason called him that word he was so afraid of and his nose crunched in a crooked, hopeless angle. _Is that the worst that can happen?_ He’d almost said out loud, he almost laughed. _Is that the fucking worst?_

And he knew it wasn’t. You didn’t go out after dark alone as a queer person in Belleville. He knew about the bodies found in parking lots, in the woods, pissed on, torn up clothes, worse. But in that moment, Frank had felt a rush of autonomy he had never really felt before. 

It wasn’t all easy from there on either. He didn’t know how to tell Ray, Brian, Bob, and especially not Jamia (“Dude, she’s fucking in love with you, Iero” Ray had slurred, sipping another beer. He took Frank’s embarrassed silence as a sign of surprise -- “You really couldn’t tell?” Ray giggled to bridge the silence. “You all better love me, dumbass, I’m the hottest fucker you know,” Frank deflected. Ray looked oddly serious at that. He put down his beer, grabbed Frank’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “No, dude. She’s in _love_ with you” He repeated, incredibly earnest. “Jealous, Toro?” Brian laughed, more sober and picking up on Frank’s discomfort. Frank tackled them both and the whole thing was forgotten in a spin of chaos.)

He’d tried to put it out of his mind, but another night, he was out with Jamia. They were both stoned and giggling about a local punk band’s shit poster (“I wanna ask them what it is” Frank managed when they stopped laughing about the unfortunate looking graphics on the red poster). When he looked up, Jamia was suddenly a lot closer. 

“Oh!” he managed, as suddenly her mouth was on his, warm, wet, and impossibly soft. When she pulled away, she suddenly looked sad. 

“Oh,” she said, “I’m so sorry” and she meant it. Frank wasn’t sure what she was apologising for. 

“It’s not your fault,” he tried to explain. 

“I should have asked you,” she told him. And maybe she was right, but it didn’t stop that from breaking something he’d been holding so tense for years beneath his lungs. She held him firmly as he sobbed, properly acknowledging how he felt for the first time. She rubbed his back as he gasped out words (he didn’t know what) between breaths. It didn’t make sense at all, he wasn’t really telling her anything, he wasn’t even trying to, but it didn’t have to and she understood. Frank let it all out, the shame, the anger, the fucking loneliness of it all. 

“I love you, Jamia,” he said when he was done. And he did and it was okay when she just smiled and hugged him closer, whispering “You better love me” in his ear, kind and perfect as she always was.

It was the beginning of the end in the cheesiest sense. Jamia never told anyone, but Frank figured it out then, and when he told Ray about how Jason kissed him hard against the bike shed after class, it was okay. His parents were fine, too. Linda overreacted in smothering reassurance and Frank Sr. gave him a sympathetic glance over the top of his paper as Frank was squeezed fiercely by his mother. 

In some ways, it was a little weird -- “Bryar shut the fuck up,” Ray would immediately say after Bob called a Danger Days player gay for their shit shooting and Bob would say something like “Shit! Frankie, not like that, sorry dude” (Frank giggled) -- but overall it was a relief and he felt like he would be okay. He wasn’t alone with it. 

He sat smoking on the curb, scuffed trainers kicking the rocks in circles as Bela chased squirrels in her personal version of doggy heaven. Idly, he scrolled through his phone, thinking, for the first time in a while, about Jason. He hadn’t loved him -- or even liked him. He was pretty, yes, with long brown lashes and swoopy lacrosse boy hair that hung over his brows in bunches of curls and wow his shoulders… But he wasn’t kind. He wasn’t funny. He was a bit dumb, really. He only wanted to kiss Frank when no one could see and pretend he didn’t exist for the rest of the time. After a while, Frank didn’t even mind. It was a mutualistic relationship really, no strings attached, no emotional ties, Jason wasn’t even really a person in his mind, just a space to share his pent up, repressed queerness. 

In retrospect, Frank regretted not pursuing a boyfriend in high school. Now there was a pandemic, and the prospects were not bright. Beyond Jason, he’d hooked up with plenty of guys at parties he’d been to with Ray’s classmates, but it was all just that -- a hook up -- which Frank was fine with at the time, but god it’d be nice to get a good morning text from someone or get butterflies thinking about how he had someone special who felt the same way and ew he was such a disgusting romantic and deeply touch-starved and it was definitely time to head home. 

As if she read his mind, Bela trotted over and plonked her head on his lap, tongue leaving a wet, drooly patch on his knee. She gazed adoringly at Frank as he scratched her favourite spot in the dip on her head. 

“No more squirrels, Bela girl?” He asked her, clipping her lead back on and dodging a well aimed lick to the face. He stubbed his cigarette on the bench and tossed it in the metal trash can at the exit of the park and headed home to cook his mum dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: fic rec// [ 1-800-Kissmet by JustAwful ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260881/chapters/71853477)
> 
> it’s SO cute -- the concept is perfect, the dialogue is natural and the writing is immaculate AND ¼ of it is already posted with 6k words!! good shit!!
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, i've had a really busy week:(

Frank was beginning to get the whole appeal of Zoom classes. He had extra time in the day that he wasn’t spending at school, so he’d lined the bottom of his eyes with red to distract from the fact that he was definitely high. Being on camera motivated him to keep his shit together in his room, too. He also wasn’t afraid of being jumped and shoved into a locker between classes (although really Frank almost loved the excuse to swing a punch and watch some fucker taller than him keel over). But the best feature of all, was the pin video feature, Frank decided.

He’d heard Brian talking about it when he was on another horny rant about “girlllllls -- sorry Frank but I don’t fucking get how you don’t think they’re hot”. They couldn’t shut him up when he started, even though Ray tried: “Bri I have a headache my mom’s into those scented candles nowadays” “Fuck,” Brian responded with a one track mind, “I bet she smells like vanilla”. Ray groaned as Brian told them that pinning Monica’s video kept him focussed on the lecture.

“Doesn’t sound like you were very focussed,” teased Frank, who was somewhat intrigued by the function.

And now he had the opportunity to try it out. Frank was also still high and he felt gutsy and uninhibited. It was way better than being in an in-person class, you could stare at someone without them noticing and perhaps thinking you’re a gay creep and God Frank feels so guilty and creepy but really it’s G. (maybe Grant) Way’s fault for being so pretty. 

This time, G. had a better lighting situation, and his room was a little cleaner, although Frank noted that it was still way too dark. He seemed like some kind of vampire, adapted and comfortable in his batlike subterranean cave. 

His skin was quite pale and acted as its own source of light, reflecting the bright monitor and contrasting prettily with his black hair. _It’s not really greasy_ , Frank decided, _although he wouldn’t mind much if it was_. G. had this habit of impatiently brushing it out of his face when he glanced down to scribble a note -- at least, Frank guessed that he was taking notes -- but Zoom Boy’s hair had a mind of its own and loose strands flopped back into his eyes like tendrils. 

His eyelashes were very long and his eyebrows had this cute arch and he had angry dark circles under his eyes ( _was that a tinge of eyeliner?_ Frank wondered) which made his face look so much more angular. His mouth was slightly crooked, and, when he concentrated especially hard and squinted down at his notebook, he sort of gnawed one corner of his lip with pretty sharp teeth. This wasn’t helping the case against G as a vampire. _It shouldn’t have been hot_ , Frank thought. God he was a creep. But he was also lonely and G was so unaware of him and how fucking pretty he was and Frank was okay being a bit of a voyeur if it didn’t hurt anyone else. 

Frank wished he could see what G was writing, he looked so focussed, almost as if he wasn’t really listening to Mrs. Tracey lecture about Milgram’s study of obedience. His camera was not angled far enough down, though. Zoom Boy flipped the page, evidently having filled it and Frank caught the briefest glimpse of a wall of black and green pixelated biro scribbles. 

_Oh_ , he realised. Zoom Boy hadn’t been taking notes at all, he was drawing a fucking zombie army. _Holy shit_ , Frank thought. The page of zombie profiles, illustrated with gruesome detail, seemed weirdly familiar -- was that zombie-Freud? Frank wondered, in awe. He thought about private messaging G, but chickened out, deleting the “zombie freud??” in the chat box. What if it wasn’t Freud or even a drawing at all and Frank was higher than he thought. Or what if Zoom Boy thought he was some kind of freaky creep or got shy and stopped drawing during class. 

“I’ll open breakout rooms for you to discuss,” Mrs. Tracey cut into his hazy consciousness. Frank had no idea what she was talking about and hoped his breakout room group had been paying more attention than him. He clicked the pop up window that invited him to join ( _how courteous_ , he thought, amused) and watched his peers vanish comically popping off the screen. This is so weird, Frank thought, and suddenly he was alone in a breakout room. His face loomed, large and domineering on the screen. 

_Huh_ , Frank thought, adjusting his lip ring with his tongue as another face split the screen with him and he was face to face with Zoom Boy. _Fuck_ , he almost said out loud.

Zoom Boy blinked at him with his pretty eyelashes for a few beats. Frank felt annoyed. Was G not going to say anything? 

“I’ll betcha I can guess your name if you show me your notebook,” Frank broke the silence. He hadn’t meant to bring up the notebook but he still felt a little foggy and uninhibited and he did want a better look at Zombie Freud. Besides, Frank liked being right and he wanted to test out his theory that this was Grant from the group chat.

G’s eyebrows crinkled, as if he misheard. “My name?” he asked Frank, slowly. Frank noticed he spoke out of the corner of his mouth, as if he was used to holding something like a cigarette on the other side. 

“Yep,” Frank told him, confidently, “I’m a very good guesser”

If he got this wrong, he was going to feel so stupid. Pretty Zoom Boy shrugged, “Alright, what do I get if you’re wrong?”

“Who says you get anything?” 

“Well, it’s only fair,” G answered slowly. He spoke like he was mulling over his words, but there were two pink splotches on his cheekbones, betraying his calm. His voice was pretty like him and fit his face. Frank wondered if G would turn all red if he offered him his cellphone number as a prize, but thought the better of it. _Don’t want to scare him off_. Frank’s history of hookups didn’t really include much flirting, or at least, not sober flirting. “Ok, go on then, what do you get?” he offered instead.

G thought for a bit, spinning his desk chair side to side. 

“Is that a guitar?” he asked, nodding at Pansy, resting on Frank’s pillow. 

“I am not serenading you, Zoom Boy” Frank glanced back, alarmed.

“Well, you’d better be right then, F-Iero” G said, eyebrow quirked at being called “Zoom Boy”. And fuck it, he was really pretty grinning his lopsided smile at Frank and the odds were on his side.

“Alright G… G… G…” sighed Frank pretended to ponder closing his eyes, as if he were calling on psychic powers to reveal the stranger’s name, “I’m getting… an R in your name”

Frank opened an eye to peek at Zoom Boy, who actually looked a little impressed. “Go on,” he said, still swivelling his chair like a little kid.

“G… R…. and I’m getting something else too… I’m sensing…. An E? No an A!” Frank grinned at Zoom Boy’s face. 

“Dude,” He said, eyes wide.

“Grant!” Frank announced, confidently.

Zoom Boy had a surprising laugh, loud and honking, as all his shock dissipated. “I was about to invest in a ouija board or something you had me for a sec”

“Your name’s not Grant??” G had to be fucking with him.

“Noo, I’m Gerard, do I look like a Grant?”

He had to admit that Zoom Boy did not look like a Grant, but was sober enough to not explain that he had combed the group chat for names starting with a G to figure out his name.

“Gerard Way, huh,” Frank tried out loud.

“Yep, who are you?”

“Hmm guess,” Frank teased.

Gerard scrunched up his face, thinking. “Fred?” he ventured.

“Fuck you!”

They both collapsed into giggled. 

“What are we actually meant to be talking about?” Frank tried to change the subject.

Gerard’s pretty vampire teeth emerged again as he looked concerned, “Er, to be honest, I haven’t really been - oh wait, you’re stalling, you owe me a serenade”

“Noooo,” Frank protested.

“Pleaseeee,” Gerard wheedled, batting his pretty eyes, “You can pick the song?”

“You pick.”

Gerard scanned the posters at the back of the room. “Dude, that one’s sick,” he motioned at the visible corner of Morrissey’s face. 

“You like _The Smiths_?”

“Yeah! Well, my brother’s the real fan, I think Morrissey’s kind of a dickhead but he’s played ‘Panic’ enough for me to admit it’s pretty damn good.”

“‘Panic’ huh? Interesting choice. You struck me as more of a ‘How Soon is Now?’ guy”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like moody in a cool way!” Frank enthused, “I mean, ‘I am the son, I am the heir of nothing in particular’ like that’s _sick_ ”. 

Gerard’s cheeks reddened “I’m not cool!” he protested.

“Hey I didn’t say _you_ were cool,” Frank teased.

“I didn’t- no - I” Gerard stuttered, getting visibly flustered and gesturing wildly. Frank giggled.

“I’m more into _Dead Kennedys_ anyway,” Frank took mercy.

“I love the _Kennedys_ \-- ooh is that a _Black Flag_ poster?”

“Yes!” 

Gerard was funny, carefully processing one topic and then suddenly jumping to the next. Frank wanted to know if Gerard listened to the Misfits. Unfortunately, a countdown box popped up, signifying that the room was soon to close. 

They both blinked at each other, Gerard smiling sort of apologetically as if it was his fault.

“Bye!” Frank blurted before he was jolted back into the main session. He cringed at the sound of his own voice. 

Back in the main session, he watched his peers pop into the room again, the older ones pressed up against their cameras in confusion. 

“Where am I?” wondered old man J.Smith out loud. 

“Ok, hopefully you came to some kind of conclusion about how to replicate Milgram’s experiment in a more ethical way,” Mrs. Tracey announced, “Who wants to start sharing?”

It was silent but Riya rolled her eyes and offered a response. Gerard made a panicky face at his camera. _Damnit_ , Frank thought, _why was he so obvious about not having an answer._

His computer pinged as he got a notification from the Zoom from G.Way.

G.Way: fred !! what do we do

F.Iero: mf my name is frank!

G.Way: oh i beg ur pardon FRANK what do we do??

Frank thought for a moment then googled the experiment. 

F.Iero: don’t worry i got it

Frank bullshitted an answer about screening for emotional trauma which Mrs. Tracey found satisfactory. 

G.Way: ur my saviour 

G.Way: u still owe me a song tho >:(

Frank found it hard to stop grinning for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your lovely comments, they are so sweet and wow i'm overwhelmed in a good way woww
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


	6. Chapter 6

It was one of those days where the rain hit the window at the wrong angle. Everything felt off, and Frank was on edge. He had nothing on for the day and he was dreading it. He still couldn’t get used to it, all this time that he could choose to allocate however he liked. It reminded him of the ache of the end of a too-long summer where he secretly wished everything was over. (Not that he was a nerd. School became unbearable soon enough) 

It was not even like that, though. If he was too hot in summer, Ray’s basement had air conditioning, if he was bored, he’d call Jamia and smoke on the ridge next to the highway and every night would fade together in a beautiful purple smoggy haze god he missed it so much. It was that Frank was now caged in his room. Hopping on calls with friends was alright but also felt exhausting, like he had to plan out a big announcement or update when really he’d been trying to learn the outro to the Smashing Pumpkins “Mayonaise”. No weird interactions, no new music, just days blending in sameness. 

And he knew he was lucky and privileged that he wasn’t out there out of necessity, working a job that put himself and his parents in danger at risk of a disease they weren’t equipped to handle. But that didn’t stop it from feeling like a shit draw, and when the sun rudely woke him as he hadn’t closed his curtains, he rolled over and put a pillow over his head to try and escape into dreams. 

Bela would usually nudge him at about eleven, inquisitively, caringly. If he didn’t move, she’d leap up to sit on him and make a low whining noise. Frank was soft for Bela and so that always worked. He’d groan, but deep down he was grateful for the thud of her tail on his bedsheets when he stretched and flopped out of bed to accompany her outside. 

Today was rainy though, and Frank snatched yesterday’s hoodie off the end of his bed. A coat seemed like a bit much, hopefully Bela kept it short. 

“Mask, Frankie!” reminded Linda as Frank slipped on his shoes.

“It’s just the neighbourhood,” Frank protested.

“What and the COVID cares about hospitality now, does it?”

Frank sighed, but Linda was unwavering. He tied the mask and pulled up his hood over it. 

It felt better outside, it always did. Even though it was a cold morning for summer and Frank only had pyjamas and a hoodie on. _I’d better not get sick from this_ , he thought, regretting not wearing anything waterproof. But he didn’t really care because in the moment, these few paces outside his house felt infinitely free. It wasn’t “nice” per se. Even though he could feel the rain cold and loud against the skin under his eyes and through the shoulders of his hoodie and the end of his pyjamas were trailing in it, soggy and frigid, he was so much more aware. It felt like waking up properly, like a glass of water after mint gum. 

Bela was sniffing the ground, maybe feeling the same way. She was oblivious to the rain and was trying to catch the scent of some creature, maybe a frog. Frank tried to feel annoyed with her, but couldn’t. 

As they took their morning walk, Frank’s pocket buzzed. He rooted around in it with one hand, trying to shield the cracked screen from the rain. It was a call from Ray.

“Hey, dude,” Ray said as soon as he picked up.

“How are you so awake?” Frank resented Ray’s put-togetherness in the mornings. He wasn’t organised, and he was always doing ten things at once, but he was an early riser.

Ray laughed, “I waited, like, two hours to call you, it’s already eleven. How is that early?”

Frank was annoyed, eleven was early to wake up if you had nothing else to do, but let it go. Ray didn’t call often, “‘You alright Toro?” 

“Yeah, yeah, all good, I’m getting really into burning herbs and shit”

“You mean like weed?”

“No, man! I mean yeah, but like smoke cleansing with incense sticks and shit -- cleansing my negative energy and - fuck it lavender smells good”

Frank laughed. Ray was a borderline hippie before the pandemic with his Grateful Dead poster everyone bullied him about, so this made sense. “So you’re calling about realigning your chakras?”

“Dude, no that’s different, cleansing is a Wiccan practice, chakras are from Hinduism, cleansing is all about healing. Anyway, no, I was thinking about figuring out a way to meet up -- socially distant of course. Danger Days is fun, but I miss your ass, and I got you something”

“Oh shit did you make brownies again, Toro if you say yes I’ll love you forever.” 

Ray’s brownies were killer. Gooey, rich, with caramel chips in the centre. Frank would kill for Ray’s brownies.

“You only love me for my baked goods, shallow motherfucker,”

“I’ll love you _forever_ ,” Frank wheedled, he knew Ray would make him some if he was cute about it. Ray had a soft spot for Frank. 

“Fine, I’ll bring you brownies. But -- meet up! I was thinking we could drive to a park and sit in the trunk of our cars”

“That sounds like a modern day pagan ritual or some shit, but yeah if Linda agrees”, Frank said, heading back indoors, and taking off his soaked shoes. Linda, who was in the next room called out “What do I need to agree to?”

Ray giggled, “Hand her over, I wanna say hi, plus she loves me”

Frank put his phone on speaker.

“Mrs. Iero!! It’s so good to hear from you, are you well?” Ray asked, Frank almost laughed. He was using his parent-charming voice, so different from the gaming-Ray or the stoned-Ray. This was little angel Toro.

“Oh hi, Ray, call me Linda, dear! We’re alright, staying inside as much as we can from the virus. You sound well!” Mrs. Iero exclaimed, delighted. She had known Ray since second grade and still saw him as the cute curly haired kid who laughed in horror while Frank dug up worms in the playground with his fingernails. (“He’s so cute!” She’d say, whenever Ray came up. “Mom, he’s _nineteen_ now,” Frank would protest. “Oh Frankie, you’ll always be my little kids.”)

They launched into pleasantries, which Ray was good at, asking about the antique store and the new tracks Frank Sr. had just stocked at his business. _Really, how did he know the details?_ Frank wondered. He’d been here for every family dinner and hadn’t heard about the customer who’d tried shoving a whole violin down his shirt and making off with it. (“Even the bow!” Linda described, chuckling, “It stuck out by his neck -- thank god the poor man didn’t trip”)

“We were thinking of having a small get-together -- me, Frank, Bob, Jamia, and Brian”

“Oh…” Linda hesitated.

“Don’t worry! We’d be in our own cars, masks the whole time!” Ray interjected.

She softened at Ray. “Well, Frank is an adult now, as much as I hate to say it, he doesn’t need my permission. But please be safe, boys.”

“Of course, Mrs. Iero, I have years of training in Frank supervision,” Ray told her. 

“Fuck off, Toro” said Frank, forgetting about Linda.

“Frank!” His mom scolded, but she wasn’t really mad, “And Ray, please call me Linda, and tell your mom I said hi,”

And so suddenly Frank had plans for the week -- it was funny how that happened, he thought -- and his mood shifted slightly. He still felt irritable and he’d probably still find himself in a game of Danger Days later that day, but there was something to look forward to. 

***

That evening, he found himself shooting Dracs with Kobra. The Dracs had encircled them, and Kobra’s shooting -- although improving -- was still shit. 

“Aim at their knees, dude, there’s a gap in the armour there on some” Frank told him.

“He can’t hit the Dracs, let alone target a body part on them,” said Bob, without any malice. 

“Shuddup Briar, you’re doing fine, Mikey,” Frank said as Mikey’s shooting got more erratic, “Anyone got a grenade?”

“I’m coming,” Ray said, but it was too late and the Dracs descended on Frank and Mikey. The little ghost icons hovered over their heads. Ghoul and Kobra were dead and had to wait until the next round.

Kobra was running in circles, looking bored. Suddenly, he took off toward the horizon. Frank followed him, trying to see what he had spotted. As they got closer, Frank spotted a white trans am. It was dirty, and looked like it had had its fair share of collisions. Its flat silhouette, along with the dirt, helped camouflage it against the desert, though, and Frank was impressed that Mikey had spotted it.

“That’s sick,” said Frank, circling the vehicle to check it out properly. 

“Mm” Mikey responded, hopping in. 

The car’s bonnet had on it a dark, painted spider, in high contrast with a lightning bolt across its back. Frank spotted the familiar stars and stripes along one side, and the words, “Look alive, Sunshine”

Frank hopped in next to Kobra, who had found a helmet in the passenger seat and put it on. It read “GOODLUCK” in continuous, white capital letters across the visor. 

“Does it drive?” Frank asked Mikey.

“Uh,” Mikey sounded embarrassed. 

“Dude, get out let me try,” Frank guessed Mikey hadn’t driven something in Danger Days before, “It’s just like in real life, but you hit W for the accelerator and E for the breaks,” he explained. Mikey made no comment and crunched another spoonful of his lucky charms.

“NO GAS” popped up the message on the top of the screen. 

_Annoying_ , Frank thought. Cars were expensive on the rebel black market, and their van was fine for travel but not fast enough or sneaky enough for day missions. 

“Think we could push it back to the gas station?” Mikey asked him.

“Worth a try.” They went around the back of it, leaning forward (“hit shift, that gives you a boost,” Frank told Kobra) and the car shifted, albeit slowly. Ray appeared next to them.

“Jet give us a hand,” Frank asked as Ray joined them behind the car. With three people, it wasn’t that bad and they made it back to their base by the gas station in only a few minutes. Frank filled up the tank while the rest of them inspected the car. 

“She’s kinda nice,” Brian sounded impressed at the car’s grimey exterior.

“Why are cars ‘she’s,” Ray mused.

“Don’t be a misogynist, dude,” Brian joked and Ray squawked in protest.

“I mean we probably call ships and cars “she” for a sexist reason, right?” 

“Like saying women are objects?”

“Actually, it’s because cars and boats are a means to carry things, like how women are objectified as a vehicle for children” Mikey interrupted in a flat tone.

“What the fuck, Kobra, how do you know that,” Ray said.

“That’s deep, ’dude’s a genius,” Brian said, in awe.

“I just googled it,” Mikey said in his flat voice, but Frank could tell he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this is late, i wanted to put it up yesterday, but my mental health has interrupted my life recently, so i finished it today. you should listen to “Luna” by the Smashing Pumpkins, it’s so romantic and gentle and beautiful. also i have never written fiction before, so i'm really sorry if my dialogue formatting is off. 
> 
> thanks for reading and your lovely words. also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


	7. Chapter 7

The week was dragging, and Frank was zoning out on the zoom, doodling scribbly bats on the margins of his notebook. The class was kind of interesting, actually, especially since he was sort of talking to Zoom Boy -- or Gerard, I guess. It wasn’t quite a “friends” thing, but sometimes Frank would notice Gerard staring at his paper for too long to be taking notes. 

Frank would message him like “whatchu drawing????” and Gerard would reply something awesome like “vincent from pulp fiction” and then he’d add “but like he’s a vampire”. Gerard always looked cutely surprised when Frank messaged him. 

**F.Iero to G.Way:** no way vincent’s a vamp dude! he’s not all cool and suave 

**G.Way to F.Iero:** ur grossly misinformed about vampires

 **G.Way to F.Iero:** he’s a night guy n doesn’t feel alive unless hes on drugs,

 **F.Iero to G.Way:** no he’s a total dork

 **F.Iero to G.Way:** would a vampire have a bathroom scene about mia wallace like that????

 **F.Iero to G.Way:** all like “i gotta get a grip on myself and not fuck my boss’s wife”

 **G.Way to F.Iero:** frank

 **G.Way to F.Iero:** it’s uma fucking thurman

And he had a point. Frank always wheedled Gerard to show him his drawings in his best trying-not-to-obviously-flirt-over-zoom-DMs tone. He did it partly because he really did want to see werewolf watchmen characters and zombie Freuds, and partly because it made Gerard turn an impressive shade of pink. Gerard always changed the subject, flustered, but Frank spotted him hiding a small embarrassed smile.

Today Gerard looked worn out, though. His eyes looked more sunken than usual and dark circles angrily lined his eyes. He wasn’t even bothering to pretend to listen. He slumped over his desk, head resting in his palm like it weighed a stone. He didn’t crack a grin in Frank’s general direction or send him a message. Frank got it. When he was pissy he’d rather just deal with it by himself -- it was better than being a total asshole to his friends. He’d give everyone space, release some pent up energy on Pansy or by running somewhere with Bela or, if he was lucky, with his hands tugging desperately at Jason’s hair. Gerard didn’t look especially pissy, just burnt out and hopeless, though. Frank didn’t really know how to help, though.

Mrs. Tracey opened up breakouts and Gerard disappeared. It was him and Riya discussing this time. Frank decided he definitely liked her, she was direct and got down to business. 

When they ran out of things to say about behaviourism, she didn’t waste time being awkward. She was really chatty, and told Frank about how she was a senior at North and she wanted to get out of Jersey and go somewhere like California (“Somewhere warm, ya know? I’m not built for this climate, the north is fucking freezing. But I don’t wanna go somewhere like Georgia… I’ve got family down there and they’re constantly getting hate crimed. Choosing to be in Georgia when you’re queer and brown seems like a dumb decision.”). Frank was surprised. “What you didn’t think Indian people could be queer?” “No- that’s not what I-” “I’m just messing with ya.”) 

She told Frank that her brother told her to take the psych class to boost her college app. She wanted a scholarship to help her get out. 

“I don’t really care if it’s not Cali, though,” she confessed, “Just somewhere that feels less grey.” 

Frank loved Jersey, but he could get that, sometimes he thought it’d be nice to get a break from the smog and rust and the grime. It still felt too much like home to properly leave, though.

They liked the same music, too, although Riya hated the Smiths (“I promise they actually suck, they’re just… sound… no substance” she claimed) and the fifteen minutes felt all too short when they were violently projected back to the main room. Frank stole a look at Gerard. He looked a little more alive. 

“Essays are due next class. Fifteen hundred words, ten percent margin. Topics on the course page,” Mrs. Tracey concluded. 

_Oh. Fuck._ Frank thought. He had forgotten they had a writing assignment. Riya didn’t look bothered, but Gerard seemed devastated. The zoom ended, and Frank decided to figure it out the next day. One day was fine for an essay and the class ended too late for him to want to start drafting. He’d throw something together. 

He killed time for a few hours and was about to sleep when he got a text from an unknown number: “hey is this frank?”

 _What the fuck?_ he thought. 

“yeah, who is this?” he replied after a minute.

“omg i completely forgot sorry!! it’s gerard from belleville psych”

Frank’s chest jolted. Gerard must have gotten his number off the group chat, Frank realised, remembering he had named himself in the chat. Frank saved Gerard’s number in his phone quickly and replied: “hi gerard!” He wasn’t sure what else to say, what couldn’t wait until next class? 

**Gerard:** can u do me a favour n tell me the essay prompts? the cc login crashed for me:(:(

 **Frank:** :(! ofc

 **Frank:** ok so there’s 

**Frank:** Debate whether the use of deception in psychological research is always unethical. Discuss the benefits and limitations associated with studying the human mind using the methods of the natural sciences. Critically debate the use and importance of empirical research in psychology

 **Gerard:** thank u so much!!!! ur a lifesaver

 **Frank:** ofc lmao i haven’t started yet though

 **Gerard:** which one are u thinking of

 **Frank:** probably the first, the others look boring

 **Gerard:** i think i’ll do that one 2

 **Frank:** wanna work together?

 **Frank:** not cheating j brainstorming and references

 **Frank:** no pressure though!!

 **Gerard:** no yes please i’m glad u asked

They set up a time to call the next day. Gerard said he worked during the day, so the evening was better for him. _A 9 to 5 job? How old was Gerard?_ Frank wondered. He felt a rush of dread -- _was he potentially into someone middle aged??_ He tried to picture Gerard’s face. He definitely looked young at least, with his pointy nose and easy blush. Maybe it was a part time job or maybe he didn’t go to college or maybe he was also taking a gap year. So many possibilities. 

Frank did some basic research at about six, but it was eight when Gerard called him.

“Uh, hello?” Gerard’s voice came crackly through his phone speaker, unsure. He sounded tired.

“Hey! ‘You alright?” Frank asked.

“Long day at work, ya know.” 

“Yeah, what do you do?” 

Gerard sounded embarrassed, “I, uh, do design for a company?”

“Like website layout and shit?”

“Sorta, kinda more like stories and art and stuff?”

“Wait -- are you an author?”

“Noo, ugh, it’s kind of embarrassing, I’ve got this job working on animated kids’ TV shows”

“Shit dude that’s amazing!! Have I seen any of them?”

“I didn’t know you watched kids’ TV, Frank” Gerard joked.

“Fair enough,” Frank admitted, “But what programme is it on?”

“Uh, Cartoon Network,” Gerard mumbled, even more embarrassed. Frank could picture him turning scarlet.

“Shit! That’s so cool!!” Frank couldn’t stop himself, “How old are you?”

Gerard laughed, “Twenty two since April”

“Oh good I was scared you were a lot older,” Frank said without thinking. Gerard laughed.

“How old are you?” He asked Frank.

“Guess.”

“Seventeen?” Gerard asked tentatively.

“Fuck you!” Frank yelled, indignant, “You haven’t even seen how tall I am!”

“It’s the eyes, I think?” Gerard tried, “and you’re definitely not tall, I can tell,”

“I am very tall!” Frank lied, “And I’m actually eighteen, thank you very much, nineteen soon,” 

When talking on the phone, Frank was less distracted by Gerard’s face, and noticed that he had a very nice voice, a little higher than he remembered. “How’d you get work at CN?” He asked, forgetting about the paper altogether.

“Uh, so I’ve always liked drawing, like, on my school shit, and taking art in school and shit, and my grandma, Elena, uh, she was really encouraging about it, helped me go to some art classes outside the school. And then when I graduated high school, I went to SVA. I was kind of scared, I didn’t want to fail and let Elena down, but she told me not even trying would be failing too. And I didn’t really see a future for myself outside art. Anyway, I graduated early and got really lucky with some internship work and... yeah here I am.”

“Your grandma sounds awesome,” Frank told him.

“Yeah, she was,” Gerard sounded proud, and a little sad.

“Oh shit sorry,” Frank realised.

“Oh, no! - it’s - she went peacefully,” Gerard reassured him, “Uh, so, what about you? Are you a Belleville student?”

“Nah, I deferred college ‘cuz I have a shit immune system and I’m just getting some credits out the way before I go.” 

Gerard made a “mm” sound, like he got it, “That’s what my brother would have done, he has asthma and he’s doing senior year from home.”

“Yeah, COVID’s scary, we don’t even know what the long term effects of it are.” 

Gerard got enthusiastic here, “Yeah!! I was talking to Mikey the other day about it -- like what if this is just phase one of the virus and in a decade or so we can’t, like, reproduce as a species or something,”

“Yeah or we become zombies or something,” Frank agreed.

“That’s what I said!! Mikey is so skeptical, saying all this sciency shit about how we’d see muscle or brain degradation by now, but it could be really slow, right?”

“Yeah, there doesn’t even have to be muscle deterioration, right? It could be like 28 Days Later and there’d be runners”

Gerard, as it turned out, was a total fucking nerd and Frank was delighted. (“Dude, you haven’t seen The Return of the Living Dead?? You have to!! The soundtrack’s got the Flesh Eaters and The Cramps on it and everything” He told Frank, gesturing wildly). Actually, it was only when they finished talking about Watchmen (“Alan Moore’s a fucking genius,” Gerard told him, starry-eyed) when they realised they hadn’t even started the paper and it was already past midnight. 

“Shit,” Gerard whispered, suddenly worried, as Frank shared his google doc with him. Frank giggled, “We’ve got loads of time, Gee,”

Gerard spluttered a little at the nickname, but seemed too preoccupied by the Wikipedia article about Milgram’s experiment on obedience to comment.

“I don’t even get why Milgram’s experiment was a problem,” He complained to Frank, “No one was really bothered by it, what’s the ‘abuse’?”

“I dunno really,” Frank said, half-thinking half-typing up his notes on the Stanford Prison Experiment, “Fucking hell, this one was brutal, though,”

They worked well together (Gerard pointing out “the question asks if deception is ‘always’ bad, so if we prove one example of when it’s not isn’t that enough?” and Frank synthesising and steering him back on topic when he got too distracted). They had a decent outline by two AM and they kept the phone on to talk while they typed it up into their own respective essays. 

As he began his last paragraph, Frank’s eyes were drooping as he heard a gentle snore from his phone. He made a mental note to bully Gerard about it next time. He finished up the sentence, not bothering to hang up the call or check it over, submitted it (he was not going to spend another minute looking at this hellish essay) and dropped his head onto his bed, asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this at midnight wearing my dumb ass sunglasses bc my eyes hurt and i don’t own bluelight glasses. also, i really am committed to the “slow” in slow burn, i’m a stickler for a slow burn.
> 
> oh, also, i actually think riya’s wrong about the south -- like, as a queer poc who lived in the south for 7 years, yes, it’s not always gonna be the most tolerant environment, but the constant vilification of the south by the north when the north has consistently profited off their structures of racism and uses them to redirect attention from their own flaws is kinda,, awkward. ANYWAY j wanted to clarify my own views.
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


	8. Chapter 8

Frank woke up to a dead phone and a splitting ache in his back. He untwisted himself from the sheets on his bed -- _fuck, this is why you use hospital corners_ \-- and flopped onto the floor. He plugged in his phone and tried to crack his back with little success. A ding interrupted him as his phone came back to life. _Dramatic motherfucker_ , Frank thought to himself, _you barely needed any juice_. An influx of texts spammed the screen as his friend group chat had been active earlier in the day. Frank hoped he’d see something from Gerard, but his heart sank slightly when he looked through and saw mainly messages from Ray. No Gerard.

He sighed as he opened up his phone, slipping on his socks while he was at it so he could go down and make himself some lunch. It was late enough to eat a respectable lunch, he decided. 

As he ate his omelette, he scrolled through his missed messages. 

**ToroToro:** today @ 4. yall better not foeget

 **BobBri:** wtf is yall 

**ToroToro:** you all

 **ToroToro:** my aunt sayz it she’s from alabama

 **BriSchech:** roll tiiiiiide

 **LochNestorJ:** only pussy u would get schechter

 **ToroToro:** LMFAO JAMIA

 **BriSchech:** uncalled for mia 

**BriSchech:** blocked

 **ToroToro:** jams u coming 2day???

 **LochNestorJ:** yah ill be like 14mins late but i’ll be there<3 

**ToroToro:** im bringing my brownies

 **LochNestorJ:** fuck im leaving work early then nvm

 **ToroToro:** <3

 **BriSchech:** ray r u having a convo with urself??

 **ToroToro:** unblOck jamiaaaa

 **LochNestorJ:** yeah u lil bitch unblock me 

**LochNestorJ:** bri is a baby

 **LochNestorJ:** bri has mommy issues

 **LochNestorJ:** bri has a small dick

 **BriSchech:** blocked again

 **LochNestorJ:** <3 ily

 **LochNestorJ:** frankieeeee u coming today????

 **ToroToro:** bet u he’s sleeping

 **LochNestorJ:** it’s 11 istfg frankie i’m calling linda rn to get ur ass up

 **ToroToro:** must be nice to take a gap year :,( 

**ToroToro:** no work……..

 **ToroToro:** no responsivilities……

 **ToroToro:** frank u better dhow up today

He messaged them, letting them know he was alive and he’d be there at 4. Polishing off his meal, he did the dishes which had piled alarmingly by the sink, took a quick shower, washing his hair which was dangerously oily. As it dried, he rooted through his drawer, looking for a shirt that didn’t scream living-at-home-with-his-parents. In school, he had had a uniform, so he was used to using meet-ups with his friends as an opportunity to wear things that felt more “him”. 

Once changed, he grabbed his keys, his now-charged phone, and a mask. At the last minute, he put Pansy in the back seat. Sometimes Ray would bring his guitar and playing with Ray felt good. He missed it. 

As he drove, he spaced out, replaying his previous night’s call with Gerard in his head, rewinding segments, dissecting what Gerard might have meant by little comments. He knew he didn’t know him very well, but there was something about him that felt so easy, so familiar. Frank wanted to be closer to him, to know what was going on inside his head. It’s not that Gerard was especially closed off or rude or anything like that, but he had this guarded look on his face sometimes, and Frank was desperate to get past that with him, to really get him. He almost ran a red light thinking about how Gerard had sounded so nervous, so unsure, when he picked up the phone. Frank wanted to make him nervous like that. 

He was still lost in thought when he arrived, turning the wheel almost on autopilot, swerving into a parking spot in the empty lot. 

It was a strip mall, typically classy Ray, which was actually really the most convenient place for them to all meet, seeing as they lived in different parts of town. There was a Chipotle, a MattressFirm (“Definitely a money laundering hub,” jamia mumbled darkly when they were high on the roof of their cars, staring at the stars), and a motel. Frank wondered if people went to motels during the pandemic. He hoped that they didn’t.

Ray, Bob, and Jamia were already there. It was so odd to see them, not being able to leap on Bob’s back as he would have. They looked so _normal_ \- no pixelated avatar, or crackly speaker voice. Jamia was glowing from the summer still, Bob looked a bit vamp-ish. Frank guessed he probably appeared similar -- holed up in his room, taking Bela out every now and then. 

They sat in the back of their cars, masks on, sharing memories. It felt like that was the easiest place to start. 

“Remember when that old dude at the gig gave Jamia his number?” 

“Remember when Frankie got a concussion from hitting his head on the ceiling when he jumped on Bob?”

“Closest he’s been to the ceiling to be fair,” Bob added.

It was weird, like the present was on hold. It felt like the only thing that was real and vivid was the reel of their high school life that they were rewinding again and again. _Is this what it feels like to get old?_ He shuddered.

His phone pinged. He took it out of his back pocket, putting Ray’s godly brownie carefully down on his leg. His heart leaped. It was Gerard.

“hey frank thank u sm for keeping me company with the essay yday! it was much more bearable with u! hope i didn’t keep u up too late? :(:(“

Frank tried to figure out if bearable with you meant like “it was nice to have a friend with me” or if Gerard liked him around in a closer way.

“not too late!” he replied. Then added, “sounds like it was for you, though. your snoring is cute:)”

The message status turned to read. There was typing, but then the bubble disappeared. Frank put his phone away after a few minutes, regretting the last part. His phone pinged.

“not as cute as the song u owe me u better pay up.” Frank quickly put his phone away before his friends could catch him smiling.

Ray’s big “surprise” turned out to be crystals. Brian cackled as he opened the box, but Bob actually handled his stone carefully, with respect.

“Jamia, I got you jasper for extra confidence in college, Brian, I got you blue quartz ‘cuz you need to calm the fuck down, Bob -- you have some petrified wood for the inner harmony, and Frankie, yours is rose quartz. It’s, like, peace and love,”

“Toro this is next level hippie shit,” Frank grinned, pocketing the stone. It did feel kind of soothing, sitting like a weight in his pocket.

“Ooh I got you something, Ray,” Jamia said, hopping off the back of her car and dropping a small rectangular box wrapped in brown paper. Ray slid the paper off -- “Woah, a tarot deck? Jams, I actually love you!” he exclaimed. 

“Yep, you better warn me about my future next time I see you,” she giggled, still circling her crystal with her index finger. 

The topic turned to Danger Days. Brian brought up that he’d be online less due to work hours and honestly he just didn’t love the game. Surprisingly, Bob concurred, “finger cramps”, he said simply to the horrified Ray. That absolutely wasn’t the whole story, and they knew it but Ray and Frank were devastated. 

“Come on, I wasn’t that good,” Bob told them, “Plus you have Kobra now,”

“Jams can fill in for us,” smirked Brian. Jamia gave him the evil eye.

“We’ll need to find a new forager for sure,” Ray said sadly to Frank, still looking at Jamia hopefully, “maybe even a gunner”.

“I guess we can ask Kobra or something.”

It was strange, Frank thought, how the entire group just disintegrated like that, a huge chunk of his life, the big thing bridging him with his friends and his present self to the normalcy of the past. Suddenly two of the five members of LEATHERMOUTH were gone. It would never be the same. He pinged Kobra and Ray said he’d do the same on the chat before they left. Actually, this was a good idea-- KobraKid liked Ray. He thought his hippie shit was cool. They could probably scrape by as a group of three for a bit, but they’d definitely need a fourth member with Kid’s shit aim. They’d figure it out, Frank told himself, he was good at persuading Jamia.

He got home in time to wash off his sweat with an indulgent second shower before his evening class. He made veggie stir fry on the stove, slipping Bela half cooked green beans absent-mindedly as he preempted the smoke alarm with the kitchen fan. He grabbed his dinner in one hand and made it up the stairs and into his room in time to hop on the zoom for the class just in time. 

As he joined, a string of notifications from KobraKid popped up on the right of his screen:

 **KobraKid:** i’ll ask my brother

 **KobraKid:** he’s got wicked aim. 

**KobraKid:** but he’s a hermit so that’s not a promise k

Frank liked Mikey, but he _really_ hoped this brother character wasn’t some thirteen year old. He made it a rule to not play with minors. That was too fucking weird.

Gerard joined the Zoom a minute late, looking rushed. He hadn’t bothered to move his hair out of his eyes, and it hung, casting shadows over the bags he already had. He looked a little nervous.

His phone buzzed, he glanced down and tried not to react as he saw a text notification from Gerard: [1 Attachment]. He snuck a look at the Zoom screen, and sure enough Gerard was watching him, waiting for his reaction. _No pressure, huh_ , he thought. He tapped the message.

It was a drawing, a drawing of him, Frank realised. He couldn’t stop a smile spreading across his entire face. Gerard had drawn him as a green skinned, bolt-necked, patch work skinned Frankenstein-esque monster. He’d gotten his eyebrows right, with the steep arch, but mid brow, there was a fierce gash that had bits of skull and bone fragments oozing out. He’d even drawn Frank’s tiny lip ring, and the smallest smirk in the corner of his lips. It was gruesome and gorgeous. Frank loved it. Below the drawing, Gerard had scrawled in scratchy handwriting “thanks zoom boy, love gerard” and he had drawn a tiny heart that could almost be mistaken as an ink smudge to punctuate it. 

Holy shit. No one had ever drawn Frank before, and his heart beat hard at the idea that Gerard was the first one to do so, that he had perceived him, taken the time to perfect the shape of his face, the mischievous grin his monster was sporting-- gruesome, but perfectly accurate. He couldn’t control his face at all. Fuck. This crush was out of control.

He realised then that he hadn’t yet responded. Gerard was still watching him intently from the screen, gnawing on his pretty lips worriedly, like somehow Frank might not _like_ the unexpected depiction of himself.

 **Frank:** holy shit gerard

 **Frank:** this is the fucking COOLEST thing anyone has done for me!!!!!!!!

 **Frank:** ever!!!!!!!!!!!!

He watched Gerard’s face relax, and one corner of his mouth crept upward in a smile. He couldn’t get over it, the feeling of elation, the feeling of being seen in that way.

 **Gerard:** :) you really saved my ass with the essay 

**Frank:** dude, i’ve been telling you!! 

**Frank:** i couldn’t have done it without you!

 **Frank:** i can’t believe you drew this. holy shit

 **Gerard:** aaah i’m sorry i didn’t mean to be creepy 

Frank sent, “no, not creepy!!!!” as he got a message from Gerard saying “u have a very drawable face!”

His heart skipped a beat, “you mean pretty?;)” he sent before he could regret it.

Gerard looked like he squeaked but replied a short, “yes”

Frank wanted to tell Gerard that this drawing was so much more than some ink blots on paper, that he felt that Gerard could see him clearly through the lineart, that he felt a rare moment of beauty in seeing Gerard’s take on his face. He took a breath.

 **Frank:** you make me feel pretty

His heart pounded. Frank watched Gerard’s face turn redder. They were so obviously not paying attention to the class and Frank felt bad for Mrs. Tracey. Not bad enough to put his phone down.

He felt the anticipation behind the pause before Gerard’s bubbles popped up. What if Gerard was completely straight? Some art kids blurred the lines a lot, it was hard to tell. What if he was freaked out and never wanted to talk to him again? What if he felt obligated to keep on this conversation? It scared Frank the most to imagine that Gerard felt just as scared as he did. 

Gerard’s reply finally came: “you deserve it frankie”

His lungs battled his ribcage in panic. He was so conscious of doing this sober, aware of the tremble he couldn’t suppress in the tip of his fingers. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know if Gerard got the way that hit him. He didn’t have to, as Mrs. Tracey, looking knowingly, announced they’d be discussing behaviourism’s merits in groups and they were whisked away from the main room. 

His heartbeat had recovered substantially as they were projected back. Gerard wouldn’t look at the screen, staring at his notebook too hard to be listening to Mrs. Tracey. He knew he should say something, not leaving the ball in Gerard’s court like that, but the panic set his mind white. He wished they weren’t in a pandemic, that they were in a classroom together or something, where Frank could use more than just words to express how Gerard made him feel.

Reading queer signaling at Catholic school was something he felt like he could teach a class on. He knew how to read the twitch of an eyebrow after you accidentally brush your knuckle across theirs when you hand them a paper, he knew the defensive tight clench of a jaw. The pixels of Gerard’s face told him nothing, though. 

“my friends call me frankie online” he texted Gerard lamely to break the silence. Fuck, what if Gerard thought he was friendzoning him. 

“gaming?” was gerard’s reply.

 **Frank:** yeah, do you?

 **Gerard:** sorta, a bit of this and that

 **Frank:** danger days?

 **Gerard:** yeah actually 

**Gerard:** i don’t know anyone irl apart from my brother who knows dd

 **Frank:** it’s the only one i play

 **Frank:** you a good shot?

 **Gerard:** i’m ok

 **Frank:** our team lost some members and we’re looking for a forager/ gunner

 **Frank:** want in?

There was a pause. Gerard’s speech bubbles popped in and out of view as he wrote and backtracked on texts. 

**Gerard:** i might be playing with my brother he asked me to join a team earlier…?

 **Gerard:** but ill lyk

 **Frank:** alright, you have my number :)

He really hoped Gerard’s brother found a replacement player.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5uBG27RCNv5F7UNJPFzIlE?si=bBixI6yHS2GwUpjGwporzQ) the playlist i listen to while i write this fic in case anyone’s interested. 
> 
> mental health really really bad sorry, if i hate this in a few days and have motivation i might rewrite.
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


	9. Chapter 9

Mikey had been annoying in regards to getting his brother on board, Ray nudged him, Frank prodded him, and he’d get back with a “He’s thinking about it,”. Frank thought this brother guy sounded like kind of a douche, really. Hanging his position over the group like some kind of leverage -- “What, does he want compensation or something?” he’d asked KobraKid, while they were scouring the desert for battery packs. “Nah, there’s another group he’s thinking about,” Kobra said.

They’d turned on their videos this time. Mikey looked different from how he’d imagined, lighter hair, glasses. He’d expected him to be burlier and less nerdy looking with his deep, flat voice. Maybe kind of like Bob. Mikey was slender, though, with stick arms. His rectangle frames reflected his monitor and Frank saw his own reflection in the top right corner of Mikey’s glasses. He looked paler here, and self consciously ruffled his hair, wondering if it looked that long in reality.

“We gotta think of backups, in case he’s out,” Ray muttered grimly. His hair was curlier than ever and tendrils of it bounced enthusiastically as Ray slammed the W key to try and lose the dracs on his tail. The car they were all in jolted forward. 

“There’s that guy in my psych class,” Frank mentioned, trying to sound offhand about it.

“Is this the pretty one?” Ray teased.

“Shut up, Toro,” Frank replied, embarrassed. He hadn’t really told Kobra he was gay, partly because he didn’t want to find out that he was homophobic and have to deal with Ray’s overprotectiveness and finding yet another new team member. It was easier to not know. Mikey was looking at him curiously. _Fucking hell_ , Frank thought, _here it comes_.

But when Kobra opened his mouth, he only asked, “I thought you weren’t in college yet,”

Frank was relieved, “Yeah,” He nodded, aiming the bazooka at the Drac van still on their heels, “I’m just taking a course at community college”

“Belleville night class?”

“Yeah, you doing any?”

“No,” Kobra answered, not elaborating.

It was silent for a bit, as they focussed on staying inside the vehicle as Ray’s driving got more erratic. 

“Fucking hell, Toro,” Frank said, as his avatar teetered on the brink of the car door, narrowly avoiding being launched from the fast moving car altogether.

“It’s not my fault! Deserts aren’t supposed to have potholes!!” Ray protested.

“Danger Days physics, dude,” Frank admitted, “but if I get flung out of this car we lose a week’s worth of battery packs!”

Mikey still hadn’t said anything, and Frank glanced at him. He looked distracted.

“So,” Kobra said at last, “is the psych class boy pretty?”

“Fuck off, Kobra,” he grinned, and the tension evaporated, “yeah, he’s really pretty”

Frank hadn’t seen Mikey smile before, but the way he did it made sense, an almost imperceptible quirk of his lips, gone just before he could be sure of it. He felt a surge of love for him, his flatness, his quiet support, and his stupid glasses. Ray was grinning too although maybe because they had finally lost their Drac tail and had arrived at a communal trading post. 

The server was busy today, and there were dozens of shops set up. They decided to browse, scouring the list for deals. Frank scrolled through the goods, rolling his eyes at the rip off prices.

“Who pays a hundred for a bullet pack??” he asked, incredulous.

Kobra’s silence was loud and Frank noticed their gold supply was down exactly a hundred coins.

“Kobra, what the fuck??” Ray cackled loudly. Mikey just crunched his snack louder into the mic and Ray and Frank protested.

“Should we join the communal voice server to negotiate for the grenade pack?” Mikey asked them.

“I’m not in the mood to hear a bunch of fifteen year olds chant slurs,” Frank told him. He found it exhausting. The Danger Days mods sucked.

“Please, Frankie, you’re so charming,” Ray wheedled. Mikey snickered, “Yeah, go on Ghoul”

“Fuck off, I bet you can get it down to seventy five,” Frank glared.

They joined the game’s voice server, and Frank pinged the store owner, PartyPoison, with the message “willing to go lower on the grenade?” Frank really hoped this “PartyPoison” was new to the game and hadn’t gotten a grip on the currency yet, but hovering over his stats, he was disappointed to find that Party had good stats and was definitely ranked higher than him. He listened to people making deals on battery packs in the channel. 

An unknown voice came through his headphones, “FunGhoul?”

He cleared his throat, “Yeah?”

“It’s Poison,” the voice came again, higher than he expected but adult and masculine. Not a kid, at least, Frank thought with some relief. “Hundred’s not bad for a grenade, they retail for a hundred fifty,” the voice continued.

Frank rolled his eyes, who did this asshole think he was, explaining the retailing price grenades to Frank who’d been playing for years. He put on his best Super Nice voice, “Yeah, our team member who had the supplies got ghosted in Zone Two earlier and we lost a week’s worth of shit,” he lied. 

Ray was grinning, muted, and listening in. Kobra had a strange look on his face, a cross between amusement and fascination.

“Yeah shit, the East of Zone Two’s been swarming with Dracs recently, I’ve been keeping south recently,” Poison replied, sounding genuinely sorry. His voice did sound mildly familiar, he had a hint of a Jersey twinge and Frank wondered if he’d traded with him before.

“Yeah, so we’re a little strapped at the moment, it’d be dope if you could sell it for fifty, we’ll owe you for the future” Frank asked, shooting low on purpose.

Surprisingly, Poison didn’t get upset or laugh, just asked, “Who’s your team?” 

“Uh, well we were LEATHERMOUTH for a bit, but we’re probably changing it since we lost a few members. We’re, uh, actually looking for another member if you’re interested?”

This time Poison let out a cute honk of a laugh which startled Frank, “You’re actually the third person to ask this week”

“Figured it was worth a shot,” Frank smiled sheepishly, “Any chance you’d want to help us out with that discount, though?”

PartyPoison laughed again, this time softer. Frank knew he’d say no, he would, too, in his position. Mercifully, KobraKid unmuted.

“Hey, Poison, can I have the grenade?” he popped in, startling Frank and his new friend.

“Mikey, what the fuck??” Poison spluttered.

“You know him? And you set me up to be the one to bargain??” Frank was going to kill Kobra.

“Poison, can I have the grenade?” KobraKid repeated, completely unphased. Frank could see a smug look on his face. Yeah, he was definitely going to kill Mikey

Poison sighed, “You owe me” as the explosive entered their inventory and Frank muttered a _thanks dude, bye_ before leaving the public channel to yell at KobraKid. 

Kid, for his part, just grinned, “It’s even funnier than you even know,” he said vaguely when Frank hassled him for an explanation of how he knew Party. He wouldn’t say anything else though, and changed the subject with an abrupt, “Oh, and my brother is in, by the way.”

“Fuck yeah! Did he just get back to you?” Ray asked.

“Something like that yeah,” Mikey said mysteriously.

***

Gerard was hurrying to finish the last frame of his storyboard he absolutely had to get done before the next Cartoon Network executive board meeting when Mikey came into his room. That’s probably why Mikey had to nudge his shoulder to get him to look up. He jumped and almost spilled his coffee all over the sketches he’d devoted the last weeks to.

“Fucking hell, Mikey!”

“You’re joining my Danger Days team,” Mikey told him. 

Although Mikey was younger, this was actually how a lot of their conversations went, Mikey in charge, telling Gerard what the best course of action was. In the hardest decisions of his life, like choosing SVA over an academic college programme, Mikey had been by his side the whole time, certain and constant. (“You’re choosing SVA, Gee,” he’d told him, “You already have in your head, I know you.” And that’s all he had really had to say -- not that all his doubts had instantly evaporated, but he knew he’d have Mikey with him with his reassuring, supportive quiet. It was enough.) 

This felt different, though, “Mikey, work’s fucking killing me right now, I have to get this storyboard done by Thursday and CN’s on my ass about the next production-”

Mikey quirked an eyebrow, “So this isn’t about the guy from your psychology class?”

Gerard flushed, regretting telling his brother about everything, “No!” he denied, quickly.

Mikey didn’t buy it, “Gee, you already log 30 hours a week, it’s not a time thing. Just trust me on this, you can hang out with Frank in class”

“How did you know his name??” Gerard spluttered. 

“You talk in your sleep,” 

Gerard sighed, “Fine, I’m in.” Frank would get it, he figured. Besides, it was sort of a relief, not having Frank subsuming two fields of his life -- one was already enough. The margins of his papers were usually littered with drawings of a punk-looking kid with shaggy hair and a lip ring. Gerard would deny it if anyone asked, but some of his characters had developed semblances of Frank’s impish grins. Gerard erased the corner of one of their mouths to try and revert it to something less mischievous, but the paper smudged. He got out a new sheet.

***

Frank was already riding the trans am South when Ray spawned in the gas station a kilometer back. He turned around the vehicle to pick him up and when he arrived, Kid and another player had appeared as well. It was PartyPoison from the trading post.

“Hey, guys, this is my brother,” Mikey told them simply.

“What the actual fuck, Kobra,” Ray giggled as Frank exploded.

“Didn’t want to suck the joy out of the whole thing, it was better as a surprise,” Mikey’s voice came through his headphones with a trace of a grin. They were playing without video since Ray’s internet was lagging and meeting a new player for the first time with visuals was always weird. 

“‘Suck the joy’ -- isn’t it ‘kill’ the joy?” Ray questioned, laughing at KobraKid’s word choice. 

“Killjoys is a good name,” Poison agreed, “Uh, if you all like it. You said you were rebranding or something,” he added quickly. It was perfect.

Poison was exactly what the KillJoys needed -- good with a gun and with a keen eye for detail, he had a sixth sense while scavenging while sniping Dracs on their tail. He was surprising, though, quiet, but his avatar had a shock of vivid red hair, a royal blue padded jacket, and a yellow mask. He almost looked like a circus clown or a colour wheel. Frank liked it, though. Poison wasn’t the same flat quiet as his brother. He was quiet in that he was more hesitant to speak. That made sense to Frank. Him and Ray were loud and sometimes overwhelming to be around. Poison’s colourful outfit, though, hinted at a more expressive personality beneath that. He didn’t mind toning it down a bit at first to not scare him off.

They were both looting the empty gas station while Mikey and Ray kept guard on the outside and pumped the car with gas. It was a novice mistake to all go inside with no one standing watch, especially with an abandoned vehicle. Dracs or even other rebel teams usually lurked nearby, looking for easy steals and the trans am was too valuable to lose. 

Poison swept the top shelves and then Frank noticed his character lean down and swipe at the area under the shelves. An extra battery pack popped into their inventory. Frank had never seen a character pick up items from under the shelf. He’d tried, right clicking, left clicking, double clicking, and even running at items in the shadow under the shelf but always ending up frustrated, concluding that it was just a detail in the graphics and the items weren’t up for grabs.

“How’d you do that?” he asked Poison.

“What?” Poison sounded distracted, moving to the next shelf to swipe at the food cans there. 

“Get shit from under the shelves-- I’ve been trying for ages” 

“Oh! Uh, I kind of found out by accident, but you can reach things low down by pressing X twice” Poison told him.

“Huh,” Frank tried it out. Sure enough, he obtained another battery pack. Already, their haul was twice as big as usual from gas stations. “I’ve literally never heard about this before,” Frank said in awe, moving to retrieve a food can from under the next shelf.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen any forums talking about it yet or anything. I was just messing around with it one day, trying out combos. This game has so many hidden details,”

“It’s genius,” Frank agreed. He was actually really impressed -- he’d been playing for ages and had never heard of anyone looting this much from a gas station, “You’re going to have to teach me your ways, PartyPoison” 

Poison laughed, “If you teach me to use the bazooka, FunGhoul,”

Frank wondered idly if this was flirting but then thought of Mikey. Too weird, he decided. Besides, who knew what Mikey’s brother even looked like or if he was into guys in the first place. Mikey was good looking enough, but not really Frank’s type. Regardless, Mikey’s brother was fucking cool, Frank decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s a bit weird + jolting to have gerard’s perspective shoved in here, but i’ll try doing it more often cuz he’s a bit of an enigma sometimes and frankie is smart but also very dense sometimes. also sorry this is so late, broke up w SO and didn’t feel like thinking about romance last week.
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love always,  
> frogless toad <3


	10. Chapter 10

“This is going to sound weird, but do I know you?” Frank felt like asking, every he was alone with Poison on the call. He didn’t ask for Poison's real name because a nagging part of him was scared he’d recognise his teammate as a homophobe from school or someone he’d made out with in the back alley behind a gig on a Sunday night and all the magic of having a crush would vanish. 

And he did have a crush. _On a fucking video game character_ , he thought, rolling his eyes. Except it wasn’t Poison’s avatar, just the way he was quiet in the group setting until him and Frank explored a cave together and then he’d suddenly open up and laugh that stupid honking laugh and in his earnest voice tell Frank about his favourite parts of the Danger Days graphics and secret easter eggs in controls, and seriously PartyPoison was the coolest. Frank didn’t want the illusion or idolatry he’d built up of Party to shatter.

Part of that was it felt easier than his crush on the very real, very pretty Gerard Way from his psychology class. Party couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the way he’d smile stupidly at his monitor when Party exclaimed at a rare gem he found in a cave and gifted to Frank immediately, saying it matched his jacket and insisted it was perfect and Frank “had to have it”. When they reached the trading post, Frank had refused to sell it, and protested to Ray that it could be useful for crafting. He had no intention of using the gem for crafting. He would just open up his inventory when Poison wasn’t there and feel butterflies at fucking pixels.

It was _so_ stupid. It wasn’t even that he didn’t like Gerard anymore either. In fact, Gerard would text him non-stop, especially after class. He wasn’t shy about being a total fucking dork either, and Frank loved it. Frank had finally asked him about the stack of books? Comics? And it turned out he was right -- Gee (as Frank called him, a laugh to his zoom name “G.Way”) had an impressive collection, Watchmen, X Men, Doom Patrol, even exclusive Grant Morrison content -- “Holy fuck!” Frank couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming when Gerard carefully held up a _first edition_ Doom Patrol comic to the FaceTime camera.

They’d even watch movies together, starting with zombie classics, as October was in full force. They’d be calling first, but then Frank would bring up something that would remind Gee of a film that they “absolutely had to watch!!!” and then, after the enthusiasm, “uh, only if you want to of course” and soon he’d send Frank a screen share link. 

Neither of them would ask the other to hang up the FaceTime call. Instead, it was unspoken that they propped up their phones on their computers, muted. Frank would catch his eyes straying from the film to Gerard. He couldn’t help be distracted at the furrow of his arched brows, the way he’d impatiently tangle his hands in his hair to sweep it out of his eyes. He’d indulge in this creep show for only a second or more, and if it felt like Gerard would look back, he’d glance away immediately. 

It was all the exhilaration of a teenage romance, the furtive glances, the telepathic messaging, but he still couldn’t read Gerard. Besides, who knew when he’d be allowed out -- by the time the virus would subside he’d be away at Rutgers and Gerard would be god knows where. But for now, Frank was content riding the race of his heart he felt from eye contact. 

“Fucking love Halloween, dude” Gerard told him, swigging his beer as their shared screen portrayed a truly vile zombie staggering toward the protagonists. 

Frank grinned, “Same, it’s my birthday” Gerard flailed a bit which was dangerous with the way his beer can was balancing on his mattress. 

“You’re fucking with me!”

“Nope”

Gerard thought Frank was absolutely awesome.

“Excited about it?” he asked Frank, as the zombie mauled the legs of a screaming man.

Frank thought about it. “Eh, I mean, I’m probably not doing much for it -- with the virus,”

Gerard nodded, but looked upset on Frank’s behalf. “How would you spend it, in an alternate universe -- without COVID, I mean”

Frank laughed, “You’re more bothered about this than me,”

“Birthdays are very important,” Gerard insisted, solemnly.

“Maybe arson,” he joked.

Gerard rolled his eyes, “no _seriously_.”

He was so damn earnest. Frank thought about it properly, “I don’t really know,” he decided, “Even a parking lot is fun with the right people. There’s gotta be a shit ton of candy, though. I kind of wish birthdays were as easy as when you were a little kid, you know?” 

Gerard looked confused.

“Ok, so, when you’re a kid, every birthday feels so special -- like Christmas. I don’t know, maybe I was just really lucky. My mom used to make a really big deal out of birthdays, though. The morning of your birthday, she’d get up early and make pancakes and I’d wake up and smell maple syrup. When I was really little, she’d take the evening off work and after we were done trick-or-treating, she’d bring blankets outside and we’d lie down in the backyard and for each star, we’d eat a piece of candy until dad got home or we felt sick. I miss that, even though I’d wake up with a stomach ache.”

Gerard was smiling at him, “When’s the last time you did that?”

“Probably when I was about eleven? Work got a lot busier for them and I could stay over at a friend’s house.”

Gerard hummed. The forgotten zombie on their screen sizzled as one of the human protagonists spilled a vat of acid over it. 

It was hot under all his blankets, and Frank removed his hoodie, pulling it up over his head, accidentally bringing his t-shirt with him. He hastily tugged it down, but Gerard was staring, attention completely off the zombies that were now cannibalising each other.

Gerard swallowed, “Are those tattoos?”

“Uh, yeah,” The way Gerard was looking at him was so unguarded -- desperate, almost hungry. He could feel his stomach turn in anticipation. Gerard still hadn’t said a word. He took a chance and slowly moved his hands to the hem of his shirt, gently pulling it up to reveal his ink.

“Fuck,” Gerard breathed, “Frank, they’re beautiful”

Gerard’s eyes were wide, taking in the horned and halod doves that guarded the looping script. Frank twisted his torso so he could read the words “Search and Destroy” sketched around his stomach and back like a belt. He could _feel_ Gerard’s eyes on his skin even through the screen. It felt like satisfying a portion of the hunger he felt for physical contact in the pandemic, but, still, Frank wanted more. He almost twitched at the thought of feeling Gerard’s hands or his pretty mouth tracing the lines of the doves with the same hunger his eyes showed.

Gerard audibly swallowed again, “Do you, uh, have others?” he asked. His voice caught in an embarrassing crack. Frank would have laughed, but he was just as nervous. He nodded and took off his shirt altogether to show Gerard the pumpkin tattoo on his back. With his back to the camera, he couldn’t see Gerard’s stare which made it easier in some ways and let him calm his thudding heartbeat. 

“Ah -- pumpkin like Halloween,” Gerard managed, still sounding breathless.

“Yeah, it was the first one I got -- right on my eighteenth,” Frank said, turning back to face the camera again, “Got any ink?”

Gerard didn’t look like he registered the question at first, but answered, “No, I’m terrified of needles, God, but yours are -- yeah, wow,”

A gunshot fired in the film they had abandoned, bringing them back to reality. They laughed somewhat awkwardly. 

“I should, uh,” the credits rolled, Gerard couldn’t think properly, “Work tomorrow, yeah”

“Oh, right,” Frank said, feeling disoriented, “Goodnight, Gee”

He glanced at the time. Two AM. Gerard hung up before he had the chance to say another word. Fuck. That was so weird, Frank hoped he hadn’t scared him and done anything wrong. Maybe he should have waited for Gerard to ask to see the first tattoo, maybe he should have put his shirt back on. God, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way he could feel Gerard’s eyes on the doves on his hips, though. Sleep would be impossible.

***

Poison was away for the next few nights. 

“Cold,” was Mikey’s monosyllabic explanation the first time, and, “He needs to get his shit together,” was his explanation the next time. Frank could understand that, but he wished PartyPoison would rejoin their server so he could stop thinking about Gerard’s huge eyes and pretty teeth. He was in a mood where he’d flirt with anything to distract himself and jokingly sent stupid kissy faces to Ray in the chat until he muted him, “Iero, I love you, but the rose quartz is working too well right now,”

But that evening, without warning, PartyPoison joined the server and Frank was sent by Mikey to pick him up at the gas station. Frank was a little drunk, and was also irrationally annoyed that Poison just appeared when he wanted to, with no explanations, as if he didn’t _know_ Frank wanted to talk to him, _needed_ to distract himself.

“Party, what’s your name?” Frank asked him in their voice chat to make conversation as the trans-am headed back for Ray and Mikey. Ray and Mikey were in their own chat, keeping tabs on Drac movement.

PartyPoison kind of choked, “Um, guess?” 

“What the fuck, dude, how am I meant to guess your fucking name? There’s, like, a billion possibilities,”

“Why does it matter?” Party sounded almost annoyed.

That stung a little, but Frank was persistent, “Terrence? Ronald? Jeremy?”

“Fuck off,” Party replied without any force.

Frank wasn’t sober enough to give up, “What letter does it start with?” 

“Why do you need to know my name?”

“Cuz I like youuu,” Frank giggled, slurring his words a bit.

“Fuck off, Iero” 

“Hey! How do you know my name?” 

“Uh, Jet uses it all the time,” Party said quickly.

“Not fairrrr,” Frank complained, “You know my name, why can’t I know yours?”

They arrived at the main camp and joined Mikey and Ray’s call.

“Hey, Gee,” Kobra greeted PartyPoison.

“Gee? Like -” Frank tried to piece together. His brain was moving so slowly.

“Frank-” Poison tried to explain. Suddenly, Frank knew why his voice was so familiar.

“Fuck! Gee like ‘Gerard’??” It hit him hard, “What the fuck?”

“Frank, I-”

“Gerard Way? From Psych?”

“Frank, I wanted -”

“What the fuck? And you knew it was me??” Frank was definitely drunker than he wanted to be right now because none of this made any sense.

“Can anyone explain what’s going on?” Ray asked. Frank wanted to know as well, but his head was spinning so fast. 

“I need to go,” he told the chat, feeling suddenly violently sick. He disconnected from the call and made it to the bathroom in time to rid his stomach of a ridiculous amount of vodka. His hands were shaking but he couldn’t really figure out why. He needed to get some water.

“You alright, Frankie?” his dad asked, looking up from the paper as he filled up his glass from the kitchen sink. 

“Yeah, just uh-” he said, motioning vaguely. Frank Sr. didn’t get it, but nodded. 

Frank didn’t remember much else of the evening, just rolling over on his bed and feeling like he was chasing a light that was always just ahead of him. His dreams were confusing and slightly stressful, but he could hear, “beautiful, Frank,” in Gerard’s transfixed voice, echoing faintly in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tattoos aren’t canonically chronological, also i have never written anything non platonic, if anyone has tips on making it less cringey lmk <3
> 
> thanks for reading also follow along on my tumblr: [frogless toad](https://froglesstoad.tumblr.com/) for sneak peaks, bonus freudian slip content, questions/ requests or just to say hi! 
> 
> love,  
> frogless toad


End file.
